The Day Draco Malfoy's Life Was Ruined
by thenargleshavegotme
Summary: A story in four parts. Draco started on a good day, and finishes wishing his life would end with it.


Chapter 1 - The Great Hall

He walked into the great hall, the very picture of perfection with his blond hair swaying as he moved. The hall was pleasantly vacant, so everyone could get a good view of him. Granger was sat by herself at the Gryffindor table. Potter and Weasley had probably ditched her for better looking girls. She was staring at him again. He threw a venomous look in her direction before sitting down at the Slytherin table next to Crabbe and Goyle, who had somehow managed to get their hands on cupcakes for breakfast.

Deciding that he didn't want sausage and beans _again_, he snatched a cake from a shocked Goyle's plate. Goyle stared at him for a second before resuming his normal look of brain-dead moron.

"You know, Goyle, one of these days your brain might start working. Do you think your body will die from the shock?" he said.

But Goyle still had that glazed look in his eyes, so he sighed and began to read the day's issue of the Prophet. Apparently Black was still on the run. Malfoy had to admit that he was impressed, and resolved to point Black to the Gryffindor tower should he ever come looking for Scarhead.

Absent-mindedly taking a bite out of his cake he continued to read. The Weird Sisters were really quite repugnant – whatever happened to good taste? Hair all over the place, terrible instruments, and clothes that were so bad even Weasley would throw them in the bin. And where _was _Weasley? The hall was filling up but there was still no sign of him. To think he'd spent all night coming up with a new insult for him: _Weasel-bee_. What a waste.

Ah, this was good. More people were looking in his direction. They must have heard about the fifty points he'd earned for Slytherin while helping Professor Snape write confessional poetry. Not that that was the official story, no. Officially, he'd caught several nifflers running around the teacher's offices causing chaos, and had been justly rewarded for his time and effort.

Two older Slytherin girls were walking up to pretended not to notice them as he finished his cake.

"Excuse me," the taller of the two said, "are you Draco Malfoy?"

Feeling slightly tingly he said, "I most certainly am. What can I do for you ladies?"

"Oh, nothing," she said, and she turned to the shorter one, who giggled.

"We just really like your hair," the shorter one concluded.

He grinned and ran his fingers through his hair before he realised how Potter-esque it was and stopped, feeling slightly repulsed.

"So what are your names?" he began, but by then they had already left.

_Oh well, their loss_ he thought. They were probably half bloods anyway. He looked up to the staff table to see Professor Snape smiling at him slightly. The poem must have worked then, all that blathering on about love lasting beyond death and female deer and god knows what else.

The hall grew louder as the imbeciles talked and joked among themselves. If Salazar Slytherin were here he'd set his basilisk onto most of them straight away. It was a shame Saint Potter had to undo centuries of hard work.

Wait, why were they turning to look at _him?_ He liked attention, but not when it was accompanied by fits of laughter. His heart beat faster as he tried to keep his expression vaguely disdainful.

"I have to say, Mr Malfoy," came a voice from behind him, "that you choose rather...unique ways to express your individuality."

Snape was stood behind him, joined by that daft old woman McGonagall, her expression stern.

"What do you want me for, Professor?" he said.

"Detention, Malfoy," she said," for blatant disregard of the rules concerning school uniform."

_What! _He looked down. There was no "blatant disregard" that he could see.

"She was referring, Mr Malfoy, to the rather extravagant form your hair seems to have taken this morning."

He grabbed the nearest spoon and twisted it until his reflection wasn't upside down.

"Argh! No!" he shrieked.

This was the worst thing that could ever have happened. No wonder everyone had stared at him. It was pink. _Flamingo_ pink. And it clashed horribly with the green on his robes.

"I need..." he began.

"You _need_ to be in my office, this evening at four," said McGonagall.

He raised his shaking hands to cover his hair as he ran from the great hall crying for Madam Pomfrey, the sound drowned by the laughter. A flying piece of toast hit him on the way out and ruined his robes.

Somewhere among the noise and chaos, Crabbe and Goyle laughed silently to themselves.


End file.
